


i saw light through your window last night

by catalysis



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Baking as Flirting, M/M, Misunderstandings, Tsukkiyama Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:54:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26215981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catalysis/pseuds/catalysis
Summary: “Anyways,” Tsukishima says, snapping Tadashi back to reality. The reality where there’s a cute guy wearing a pale green apron and Tadashi is standing in the apartment said cute guy shares with his girlfriend he doesn’t sleep with? Yeah, that reality.--technically written for tsukkiyama week day 2-neighbors
Relationships: Tsukishima Kei & Yachi Hitoka, Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi
Comments: 7
Kudos: 133
Collections: TsukkiYama Week 2020





	i saw light through your window last night

**Author's Note:**

> okay i really love the fics where yama’s kinda unhinged, because i myself am kinda unhinged. tsukki’s kinda a bit too nice in this, but he’s been bffs with yachi for years and i bet that takes a toll on a person.  
> also, they’re in tokyo because… uh, i don’t have a good reason  
> \--  
> warnings for references to infidelity (though there’s no cheating AT ALL), alcohol, mild language

Tadashi sees the moving truck and feels a sense of foreboding tickle the back of his neck. Logically, he knows that there’s a good chance they’re not moving into The Apartment but there’s a possibility and that’s enough to make him consider how much longer he has on his lease.

See, The Apartment is apartment 702. He lives in 701, on the corner, so he only has one neighbor, which honestly sounded great at first. And it is, except for the fact that there seems to be a trend where anyone living in 702 is _strange_ , to say the least. The guy living there when he moved in had caused a rat infestation problem when all 29 of his pet rats escaped. After that came the guy who played those oddly aggressive workout videos, but only at 2am and only at max volume. Then, there was the older lady who kept bringing him jars of pickles. Just pickles, for no discernible reason. She was the most recent and the most threatening, in Tadashi’s opinion. None of them stayed very long, thankfully. As of now, 702’s been vacant for almost two months and Tadashi would prefer that it stays that way. 

The elevator stops at his floor and he takes a deep breath before stepping out. The hallway is silent and Tadashi relieved for a split second, but then the door to 702 slams open and a suspicious figure with a horrifying bedhead walks out. They slink the entire three meters to the elevator and Tadashi can’t get his keys in the door fast enough.

He only realizes that he’s been holding his breath when his sigh of relief comes out more like a wheeze.

* * *

Tadashi is rummaging through his drawers, trying to find the damned lease agreement, when there’s a knock at his door. Tadashi honestly considers grabbing the wooden bat by his bed, but decides against it. He can totally handle himself.

He opens the door to see two people standing there. There’s a blonde-haired girl and a taller blond boy, but no rooster-haired figure. Tadashi resists the urge to lean forward and check the hallway.

“Hello. We just moved in next door,” the boy says, “I’m Tsukishima Kei.” Tsukishima is pretty cute, Tadashi notices, cute enough that he might even entertain this line of thought further if he wasn’t so afraid of apartment 702.

“Yachi Hitoka,” the girl adds. And, oh, that’s right. Even if Tadashi wasn’t afraid, there are other reasons he can’t even try.

“It’s nice to meet you,” they say in unison, bowing.

Tadashi takes a moment to consider this. There’s never been a couple in 702 before, and these two seem as nonthreatening as they come, so maybe this won’t end as badly.

He puts on a placid smile. “Yamaguchi Tadashi, nice to meet you.” But Tadashi has to ask, just to be sure. “So there’s no, uh, rooster-haired individual, living with you?”

They both look puzzled before Yachi starts laughing.

“Rooster?” She’s actually doubled over. “Oh my god, Kuroo is gonna be so pissed.”

“I guess you saw him when he was helping us move in.” Tsukishima says. “And no, it’s just us in the apartment.” He eases something out of Yachi’s still shaking arms.

It’s a package of senbei, which he hands to Tadashi. “It was nice meeting you, Yamaguchi,” Tsukishima says while herding Yachi back to their apartment.

Tadashi stares at the senbei until he hears the neighboring door close. Well, at least it’s not pickles.

* * *

It takes about three weeks before Tadashi tentatively begins thinking that the curse of The Apartment has been lifted. There have been no mishaps, no red flags, nothing more than the expected number of awkward encounters by the mail boxes and in the elevator. Okay, there are a little more run-ins than usual, but that’s because it turns out they’re all students at Todai. Small world, huh.

But overall, Tadashi is hopeful, and he’s still hopeful when there’s a knock at his door. 

It’s Tsukishima, looking a bit sheepish. “Good morning, Yamaguchi-kun.” 

“Good morning,” Tadashi returns. He’s in such a good mood that Tsukishima could tell him that they’ve spilt toxic sludge and that it’s slowly seeping into his apartment and Tadashi wouldn’t even bat an eye. It’s honestly a very strange feeling.

“Ah, I was just wondering if you had any sugar that I could maybe borrow.” So not toxic sludge, then. Tadashi can’t tell if he’s disappointed or not.

“Sure. Give me a minute.” Tadashi heads into the kitchen to rummage out the shockingly large sack of sugar sitting in the back of his cabinet. He portions it out into a little tupperware every so often, but with all of the sickeningly sweet coffee he drinks, it goes faster than he’d like to admit.

Tsukishima’s eyes widen at the sight of the bag, but he wisely doesn’t say anything. “I’ll pay you back,” he insists, but Tadashi waves him out the door.

* * *

Tsukishima does pay him back. He brings a box of sugar cookies later that day.

Tadashi definitely doesn’t find the smear of flour across his cheek endearing.

* * *

After this, they seem to run into each other more and more, almost like fate is tempting him, taunting him. Tadashi isn’t superstitious, but he can’t dismiss anything when it comes to The Apartment. 

In lieu of thinking too hard about it, Tadashi pines. It’s pretty pathetic, if he’s being honest. Which he isn’t, so yes, this is perfectly normal. Anyone with an unreasonably attractive neighbor who brings them baked goods occasionally would be liable to this level of irresponsibility.

* * *

He knocks at 702’s door to return Tsukishima’s tupperware. Usually, he hands it to Tsukishima or Yachi and leaves, but this time, Tsukishima answers the door lightly dusted with flour, looking slightly harried, and invites him in. 

It’s the first time he’s been inside their apartment and it looks extremely normal. Almost too normal. Tadashi narrows his eyes. So maybe the paranoia isn’t completely gone.

Tadashi spies a futon folded up on the couch. A flash of messy hair spears through his mind and he doesn’t think before asking, “Do you guys have anyone staying over?”

Tsukishima follows his gaze and laughs. “Oh, no, we don’t have any guests right now. That’s mine.”

The cogs in Tadashi’s brain nearly spark as he tries to figure out what that’s supposed to mean. “You and Yachi-san… don’t sleep together?” Tadashi flushes as he realizes what he’s just said. “I mean—”

Tsukishima laughs some more, and oh god, Tadashi is absolutely fucked. “Well, we tried it, but I hog the blankets and Yachi kicks in her sleep, so this just works better for us.”

Tadashi’s brain cogs scrape together even faster as he tries to recall if he’s ever heard of any couple being deterred from sleeping in the same bed by the threat of pneumonia or bodily injury. He’s drawing a blank; multiple blanks, even. Hell, he knows that Hinata and Kageyama sleep in the same bed, and they’re not even dating.

“Anyways,” Tsukishima says, snapping Tadashi back to reality. The reality where there’s a cute guy wearing a pale green apron and Tadashi is standing in the apartment said cute guy shares with his girlfriend he doesn’t sleep with? Yeah, that reality. He’s doing something with whipped cream? and strawberries? that Tadashi isn’t even going to pretend to comprehend.

When he’s finished, probably, Tadashi still can’t tell what he was doing, he turns around and holds out a small, round plate, with what looks to be a piece of strawberry shortcake on it. And it’s so adorable that he doesn’t even wonder if it’s poisoned or anything. Okay, fine, he does wonder, paranoia and all that, but he doesn’t _care_.

Tadashi reaches out and takes it and the proffered fork and then nearly drops the plate because it’s an actually nice plate. Not that cheap melamine crap he has in his apartment. It’s almost too much for Tadashi to handle. But he can handle it, damnit. He won’t be bested by a cute guy in a green apron who lives in an apartment with his girlfriend and nice dinnerware. He takes a bite of the cake and almost bursts into tears. Again.

“Well?” Tsukishima asks, eyes practically sparkling.

And of course, because Tadashi has already resigned himself to going straight to hell, do not pass go, do not collect $200, his mouth says, “I like it. A lot.” His eyes are fixed on Tsukishima.

Tsukishima just smiles, very, very bright, and sets Tadashi free with another slice of cake in a little tupperware. Tadashi sort of misses the heavy weight of the plate in his hands.

When Tadashi gets back into his own apartment, he resists the urge to scream or cry or something. He’d hate to be a bad neighbor.

* * *

Tadashi wouldn’t say that he’s avoiding Tsukishima, but maybe he stops going over to return the tupperware and instead waits for Tsukishima to come over first. That doesn’t count as avoiding, he tells himself, because, again, he’s a liar.

There’s a knock at the door and Tadashi stands up and grabs the tupperware off his drying rack. He answers the door holding it because best case scenario, Tsukishima gives him more affection-inducing baked goods and Tadashi hands him the old tupperware in exchange and it’s over in less than a minute, and worst case scenario, it’s like his landlord, and he’ll just be holding a tupperware for no good reason.

It ends up being neither of these scenarios.

When he opens the door, it’s Tsukishima, but instead of handing cookies over, he asks, “Hey my phone charger broke and Hitoka is a filthy Apple user. Can I borrow yours?” 

Tadashi blinks. Now he doesn’t have time to unpack all of that but first of all, “What makes you think that I’m not an Apple user?” 

“You seem like you have good taste,” Tsukishima grins, he actually grins, and Tadashi just blinks some more. Is he—? No, definitely not. Tadashi’s wishful thinking has grown legs. Or something. God, Tadashi _just_ tested the lead content of the water, and now he’s going to have to do it again.

“I’ll go get one for you,” Tadashi says, instead of saying something else that he’ll regret so much more later.

He’s in his room, digging through a drawer when he realizes that he forgot to ask what kind of phone Tsukishima has. Tadashi definitely does not want to draw this out any longer, but he also doesn’t want to make any assumptions. Most of the newer android phones use the type-C, but being a broke college student means that anything’s possible. He spots the sorta crappy multi-type cord he bought on a whim, and then promptly stopped using because of its sorta crappiness, in the back of the tangle. Tadashi yanks it out and ignores the protesting _crack_ the cheap plywood drawer makes. 

He hands both the cord and the tupperware to Tsukishima and waits until he hears 702’s door open and close before screaming into a pillow.

God, maybe the curse has been Tadashi himself all along.

* * *

Tadashi continues to not mope and not avoid and unpathetically pine because he eventually did find the lease agreement and it turns out that he has five more months of this road to hell. 

And it only gets worse when Tadashi starts running into Yachi more too. If he thought Tsukishima was the sun, Yachi has to be like Sirius. And it’d be fine if she was a menacing figure that antagonizes him but is otherwise flawless, but she isn’t. She’s just nice and shy and cute and Tadashi’s dealt with jealousy before, but he just can’t muster it up here. It’s like he’s physically incapable of harboring any negative emotions towards Yachi.

Tadashi offhandedly mentions his vague interest in figure skating at one point, for no real reason and it’s that weird cognitive dissonance Yachi evokes in him that causes him to say “Yes” when she invites him over to watch the Winter Olympics.

* * *

He’s standing in front of 702 and doing a bit of thinking because this is kind of strange, isn’t it? Tadashi supposes they’re friends, but are they really this close? Ugh, he needs to stop overthinking it because even if they’re not friends, they’re at least neighbors who would otherwise be watching the same thing on TV tonight. They’re conserving electricity this way, he rationalizes.

Tadashi knocks on the door before he can chicken out or stays standing on their front step for the next 5 hours.

* * *

Two hours into watching skiing, Tadashi is definitely a little tipsy. Yachi had brought out a 12 pack of Kirin, and then promptly drank both Tadashi and Tsukishima under the table. 

Sometime during the slalom event, Tsukishima pulls out some Kahlua and milk and pours everyone a glass. 

“Tsukki!” Tadashi exclaims, “this sucks!” He still takes another sip, though. Tsukki? Tadashi isn’t sober enough to really consider why he said that. 

“Shut up, Yamaguchi,” Tsukishima says, which Tadashi supposes is deserved.

“Sorry, Tsukki!”

At some point, Tadashi thinks that it’s around skater 15, Yachi unrolls the futon and flops onto it. Tsukishima follows not long after. 

Alcohol doesn’t just wear down his brain-to-mouth filter, it absolutely destroys it. He knows this because of the mortifying memory of the time he’d made a pass at Terushima of all people outside of a Shinjuku pub. To Terushima’s credit, though, he had just ruffled Tadashi’s hair and shoved him into a cab. Tadashi still didn’t speak to him for a week after that, though.

So Tadashi blames the alcohol for him saying, “I still don’t get why you guys have the futon?”

Tsukishima and Yachi give him matching puzzled expressions, so Tadashi continues, “Like, don’t couples always sleep in the same bed, even if someone kicks? Or steals the blankets?”

There’s silence for a second. “Couple.” Tsukishima repeats. And then he and Yachi share a look before they both burst into laughter.

“Couple,” Tsukishima wheezes. He grips Yachi’s shoulder, “Could—” wheeze, “could you imagine?”

Yachi turns to Tadashi. “We’re not dating,” she giggles. “I’m gay,” she stage whispers. Tsukishima loses it at this and buries his face in the futon.

And Tadashi must be drunker than he thought because all he replies with is, “Oh, me too.” And then he joins them laughing on the tiny futon because why not?

* * *

Tadashi wakes up feeling like he’s just gotten hit by a truck and he’s waiting for another one to come and finish the job.

His back aches from how he’s contorted with half his body on the futon and the other half on the hard wooden floor and an ankle hooked onto the couch’s arm. Wait— futon?

Oh fuck. Tadashi bolts upright only to fall back down as his ankle remains where it is.

Sometimes he wishes that he was the type to completely forget what happens when he drinks too much, but alas, he isn’t so lucky. He slowly brings his foot down and winces as his hip pops, unreasonably loud in the silence of morning. Unluckily, Yachi’s a light sleeper and Tadashi watches as her head pops up from where it had been pillowed on Tsukishima’s chest. 

She squints at him for a second before saying in a much too perky voice, “Good morning, Yamaguchi-kun!”

Tadashi winces and even Tsukishima rolls over and away in his sleep. “Morning,” Tadashi returns. His leg finally regains enough feeling that he can stumble to his feet. Yachi hops up too and it’s definitely unfair that she, in all of her five-foot-nothing glory, can handle her liquor that well. 

“I’ll make coffee,” she says. And as good as that sounds, Tadashi kind of wants to get out of here as soon as possible. And then not see them again for at least a week, or preferably, forever.

“I’m fine, thank you,” Tadashi tries for polite, even as he inches towards the door. “I should go.”

Yachi turns around and pins him with a stare. “Coffee.” And Tadashi is too tired to analyze why exactly his feet drag themselves to the kitchen.

“So,” Yachi says over the burble of the coffee maker, “you thought we were dating?”

Okay, so Yachi’s memory is unsurprisingly unscathed as well. “Yes,” Tadashi says simply, because hangovers make him honest, he supposes.

“And now that you know we’re not, do you like him?”

Tadashi’s brain is struggling to keep up. “Huh?”

Yachi has the tiniest frown on her mouth. “It’s a yes or no question.”

“Yes,” Tadashi says, because he doesn’t think lying would be conducive to him leaving this apartment alive. God, wouldn’t that be ironic: he finally gets over his fear of apartment 702 only to die here.

“I’m going to kill him,” Yachi says, so seriously that Tadashi flinches back. That’s a bit on the nose, isn’t it? How was he ever convinced of her sweetness? She continues, “Do you know how much whining I’ve had to listen to? He’s been absolutely convinced that you’re uninterested, but it turns out the whole issue was just a bit of miscommunication?”

Tadashi still doesn’t follow. And before he can think of any response at all to that, Tsukishima walks into the kitchen. And huh, it’s awfully cramped in here now. Japanese kitchens definitely aren’t built for more than one and a half people at a time. Before he can think up a plan to somehow extricate himself from the kitchen, the apartment, hell, the three-block radius, Yachi shoves a mug of coffee into his hands. Tadashi stares down sadly at it, but takes a sip anyway. He doesn’t know where the sugar is, and at this point, he’s too afraid to ask.

When he looks up again, Yachi and Tsukishima seem to be communicating solely via eyebrows and pinched mouths, and Tadashi is simultaneously impressed and terrified.

“Ugh,” Tsukishima finally says, and by the smug look on Yachi’s face, Tadashi assumes that means he’s lost the argument. Tadashi takes another sip.

“Hey, Yamaguchi, are you free Tuesday night?” 

Tadashi chokes. “W-what?” He’s not an idiot and he likes to think that he can read between the lines, but he can’t if the whole document’s been through the shredder. He takes another swig of coffee as if that’ll give him clarity. “Like a date?” he asks, because apparently he isn’t completely sober yet.

“Yes,” Tsukishima says after a nudge from Yachi. And oh, this is really happening.

Tadashi smiles into his mug. “Okay.”

* * *

Four and a half months later, Tadashi is trying to fit his dishes into the kitchen cabinet, but they look so out of place next to Tsukki’s nice white plates.

“No,” Tadashi hears from behind him. Tsukki walks up to the counter and tugs the plastic plates out of Tadashi’s hands. “I told you to get rid of these.”

Tadashi pouts, and Tsukki sighs before pulling a single plate out of the stack. Of course it’s the frog shaped one. “This one can stay. Everything else goes.”

“Everything?” Tadashi asks, crowding into Tsukki’s space. 

One corner of Tsukki’s mouth tips up. His hands are soft on Tadashi’s waist. “I guess you can stay too.”

**Author's Note:**

> yes i have freaked out abt real ceramic dinnerware before, gomen yama  
> (also, yes, i did say qpr kagehina)  
> let's be friends on [twitter](https://twitter.com/nyamayachi) :)


End file.
